Aside from her, none of those assembled there interested him--while Zvantzev and the gentleman with the side whiskers were actually repulsive to him.
"What are you staring at?
Eh ?" he heard Ookhtishchev's jestingly-stern voice.
The peasant, at whom Ookhtishchev shouted, drew the cap from his head, clapped it against his knee and answered, with a smile: "I came over to listen to the lady's song." "Well, does she sing well ?" "What a question! Of course," said the peasant, looking at Sasha, with admiration in his eyes.
"That's right!" exclaimed Ookhtishchev.
"There is a great power of voice in that lady's breast," said the peasant, nodding his head.
At his words, the ladies burst out laughing and the men made some double-meaning remarks about Sasha.
After she had calmly listened to these and said nothing in reply, Sasha asked the peasant: "Do you sing ?" "We sing a little!" and he waved his hand, "What songs do you know ?" "All kinds.

I love singing." And he smiled apologetically.
"Come, let's sing something together, you and I." "How can we?
Am I a match for you ?" "Well, strike up!" "May I sit down ?" "Come over here, to the table." "How lively this is!" exclaimed Zvantzev, wrinkling his face.
"If you find it tedious, go and drown yourself," said Sasha, angrily flashing her eyes at him.
"No, the water is cold," replied Zvantzev, shrinking at her glance.
"As you please!" The woman shrugged her shoulders.

"But it is about time you did it, and then, there's also plenty of water now, so that you wouldn't spoil it all with your rotten body." "Fie, how witty!" hissed the youth, turning away from her, and added with contempt: "In Russia even the prostitutes are rude." He addressed himself to his neighbour, but the latter gave him only an intoxicated smile in return.

Ookhtishchev was also drunk.

Staring into the face of his companion, with his eyes grown dim, he muttered something and heard nothing.